A Winter's Tale
by SheWhoScrawls
Summary: This collection of tales is my response to Hades Lord of the Dead's December advent challenge. What antics will the Baker Street gang get up to this Christmas? Happy holidays, everyone!
1. Sprained Ankle

_A/N: So here's my entry to __**Hades Lord of the Dead**__'s December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness! (sorry this is my first fic in a LONG while, but a complete story of mine is in the process of being typed up and I should be publishing it fairly soon) Today's prompt:_

_Day: December 1st_

_From: __**Domina Temporis **_

_Prompt: Holmes has sprained his ankle on a case and isn't happy. Watson needs to keep him occupied - what do they do?_

_Enjoy! -SWS_

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><p>"Please, Lestrade," Watson pleaded.<p>

Lestrade could see the desperation in his eyes and sighed. "Very well, but why exactly is this necessary?"

"Holmes severely sprained his ankle while chasing the Bloomington killer. He got tangled in a pile of fishing nets. I've instructed him that he _must _stay off his feet for a couple of weeks until it heals, and he's already seen for himself that he can't stand on it. He's restless as all bloody hell, and I don't know what to do."

Lestrade put his head in his hands. "And if he damages them?"

"They're police evidence, Lestrade, I'm sure he wouldn't."

Lips tight, Lestrade heaved another sigh and arose to speak with the officer in charge of archiving the evidence.

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><p>An hour later, a row of a dozen paintings was lined up in front of the sofa in 221B, Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only private consulting detective, was lounging on the sofa with his swollen ankle propped up on pillows, peering closely at each painting in turn.<p>

Throwing his magnifying lens down with a sigh, Holmes glared at Lestrade. "I'm supposed to be determining which of these paintings are forgeries and which aren't, am I correct?" he asked.

Lestrade nodded. "Yes, Doctor Watson thought it would be a good idea if you could be of some use to the Yard while you are recovering from your injury, and this series of paintings has been a topic of incredible skepticism. We thought you could be of some help in the matter."

"My dear Inspector!" Holmes said loudly, throwing his hands up in the air in a wild gesture of bewilderment. "They're all forgeries! I daresay that the museum from which these were taken has a serious problem!"

Doctor Watson groaned. It had only been a few moments since the paintings had been brought in. This was going to be a very long two weeks.

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><p><em>AN: Well, there you are! The first day of the challenge complete! Reviews, comments, questions, and feedback are always welcome, so drop me a line! I eagerly await tomorrow's prompt and the chance to read everybody elses responses. Thanks for reading! -SWS  
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	2. Christmas Dinner

_A/N: Sorry, no prompt yesterday. I got caught up in house cleaning and going to my girlfriend's. (also had an angsty and emotionally rough afternoon so had to get through that.) But today I have two prompts to do! Without further ado, here is the first. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Day: December 2nd_

_From: __**Catherine Spark**_

_Prompt: Watson corrals Holmes into cooking Christmas dinner for Mrs. Hudson_

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><p>On Christmas Eve afternoon of 1896, Mrs. Hudson had gone to market to purchase the final ingredients for tonight's Christmas dinner. Holmes and I had been residing in Baker Street for near a decade, now combined with the years before my marriage and those following Holmes' return, and every one of those years, Mrs. Hudson had given up her Christmas Eve to make us dinner, only saving a few leftover scraps for herself. While I could not help but smile fondly and affectionately at the woman's selflessness, I also felt remarkably bad for her. I'd had an idea over the past few days, and Mrs. Hudson's absence was the perfect time to follow through with it.<p>

"Holmes," I said casually, setting down my newspaper and leaning forward in my chair.

Holmes merely grunted without looking up from the sheaf of paper on which he was fiercely scribbling.

"Holmes, don't you think we ought to do something nice for Mrs. Hudson?"

He finally tossed aside his paper and pen flippantly and looked up at me. "Why? Don't you think, Watson, that we're being kind enough by reigning in our eccentricities enough that she doesn't throw us out onto the street?"

I sighed and blew a stream of air out of my mouth to keep myself cool and collected. "You know, Mrs. Hudson is very generous for keeping us as tenants. She does care for us, or she wouldn't bother making Christmas dinner for us every year without sparing any time for herself. All these Christmases and I have never seen her leave the flat on Christmas once, nor ever heard her mention any family she has to visit. Holmes, I don't think she has a family to visit on Christmas. Did you ever wonder why she cares for us so? I think it's because we're her family. We're all she has."

"Well, then, Watson, if we are all she has, then I'm sure she doesn't mind sacrificing so much for us."

"Holmes," I said, an idea sparking in my head, "if it weren't for Mrs. Hudson renting these rooms to us, would you care to think where both you and I would be?" We both know that I had nowhere to go, and you couldn't have afforded the price of a flat on your own as a struggling amateur detective. With this flat not only have you gained my assistance on cases and as a companion, biographer, and friend, and therefore a surge in your incoming cases, clients, and funds, but you wouldn't have had a secure shelter to return to when protection was needed, as with the Moriarty case and many others. I feel quite sure that without Mrs. Hudson's care and affection, the both of us would still be starving, struggling, or dead."

At my words Holmes rose and went to the window, hands grasped tightly behind his back and blinking several times in rapid succession. I could tell that my words had affected him. "I suppose you are right, Watson," he said softly. "Mrs. Hudson has shown a remarkable amount of patience towards us over the years, more so than my own parents ever did, in fact. And I suppose the occasion has been rare when we in return showed her a mark of our own gratitude."

I smiled. "Very good then, old fellow. So what do you say we cook the dinner tonight and have her dine with us?"

Holmes turned again to face me, and although at first he didn't speak I knew that the glint in his eyes was an agreement.

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><p><em>AN: Well, that was certainly sweeter than I expected. Indeed, Mrs. Hudson truly is a remarkably patient and long-suffering woman, and she must certainly be commended. I hope you enjoyed. More to come! Please review and stay tuned! -SWS  
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	3. The Icing on the Cake

_A/N: Whew, okay, so sorry about the absence. I had the flu and Christmas shopping and bustling around got in the way of these delightful prompts, but I'm back now and hopefully I'll be catching up soon. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Day: December 3rd_

_From: Wordwielder _

_Prompt: Icing_

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><p>Doctor John Watson walked down the street towards his house, and although he was worn out from a very long day helping Holmes track down a very young, very <em>active <em>smuggler, the thought of being at home with Mary and sitting down to dinner and then a lovely, relaxing evening gave the old soldier an energetic spring in his step.

Looking down at the pavement, he stopped and narrowed his eyes in confusion. There was a sticky glob of white icing smack in the middle of the pavement. He had to hastily take a step backwards just to keep from stepping in it. _Now how on earth did frosting from a cake get to coating the streets of London along with all the other filth? _the doctor asked himself.

Shrugging off his confusion, he went on walking. A few yards in front of him was another glob of icing. And then another. And another. They led straight up the steps of his house and stopped at the door. Completely bewildered, Watson stood on the pavement outside his house, mouth slightly open and head tilted to one side in absolute confusion.

Making a mental note to ask Mary about it when he got inside, he walked up to the door and entered, careful to sidestep the globs of icing - for Mary would be positively furious if he tracked any in on the bottom of his shoes.

He took off his hat and jacket and hung them on the hooks of the coat stand, and was about to lean his walking cane against the wall when he heard voices from what was either the drawing room or the dining room. He paused, completely still and silent, cane still held in his hand, and listened. Were there intruders? Thieves? Kidnappers? Was Mary in danger? He tried to make out what the voices were saying and if he knew to whom they belonged, but he couldn't. Then he heard a very loud, very feminine shhh-ing, obviously from a female unable to contain her excitement. _Mary? _

"Mary?" he called out, holding his cane much like a sword in front of him, prepared to fight off any criminals who came at him with intent to harm. "Mary, I'm home."

The door to the dining room was ajar, and the lights were on, so the doctor pushed open the door to ascertain what the devil was going on. Mary and Mrs. Hudson stood at the end of the table, putting the finishing touches on a cake that was iced in white - the same color he had seen on the pavement.

"Happy birthday, John!" Mary exclaimed, her face glowing with girlish happiness.

Watson blinked and looked around the room. Holmes, Lestrade, and Mycroft were all sitting at the table, smiling at him - or rather, Lestrade was. Holmes and Mycroft were putting on the closest thing to a smile that they in all their unemotional aloofness knew how to, which was some sort of a pained sneer.

Was it his birthday? Watson checked his memories for any reference as to the date. 3rd December, the date on the _London Times _had read when he had picked it up this morning. So it was his birthday! The excitement of finishing the case with Holmes had completely distracted his attention from all else - and it was obvious that his wife and friends had used that fact to their own advantage.

He blinked again, still shocked into silence, mouth agape and cane held limply at his side. "Th-thank you," he finally managed to stammer. "Um, was this why there was a trail of frosting outside leading up to the door?" he gestured with his cane in the general direction of the foyer and front door.

Mrs. Hudson put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, dear. I had some of Mr. Holmes' urchins -"

This earned a glare and correction from the detective. "They are not urchins, Mrs. Hudson, they are my unofficial force!"

The motherly old landlady sighed. "Well, I had them deliver the icing for the cake to us. I do hope they didn't get any on the carpets."

Watson shook his head. "No, I didn't observe any when I came in."

Mary clasped her hands together. "Come sit, my dear husband. Let's have some cake."

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><p><em>AN: I hope I did this lovely prompt justice! Thanks for it, I had fun writing it just now and picturing this happening. I hope you enjoyed! I'll have more up soon, and as always, please review! -SWS_


	4. Dinner at Lestrade's

_A/N: Second chapter of the night! I do apologize for this one, not sure if I'll do it justice. I puzzled over this for quite a while. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Day: December 4th_

_From: __**Poseidon - God of the Seas**_

_Prompt: Lestrade finds an unlikely alternative to a turkey for Scotland Yard's Christmas dinner  
><em>

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><p>"Dear Lord in heaven, <em>what <em>is that smell?" asked Tobias Gregson as he entered Lestrade's house along with Inspector Martin from J Division. Both he and Martin wrinkled their noses.

"It smells _wretched,_" Martin said, steeling himself against the scent as he had learned to do for the foul stench of London's streets.

"Ah! Welcome, you two!" said Lestrade, coming from the kitchen into the foyer. Lestrade had been nominated from those among the various inspectors to host Scotland Yard's annual Christmas dinner.

"Good God, Lestrade," choked out Gregson, loosening his tie. "What in heaven's name is that awful smell?"

Lestrade grimaced, looking as if he'd already explained this a few times too many to everyone else who had already arrived. "Well. I went out looking for a turkey for the dinner, and being Christmas Eve everywhere I could check was completely sold out! So finally I had to resort to a more...creative idea. Pigeon."

Gregson and Martin looked on incredulously. _"Pigeon?" _they both repeated in unison.

"Er...yes. It does smell awful, doesn't it? I'm honestly hoping that it tastes much better."

Gregson shuddered in disgust. "Well, I don't know about everyone else," he declared, "but I won't be risking contracting some sort of venereal disease or something from that bird. I'll stick to biscuits and potatoes, thank you very much."

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><p><em>AN: Not quite sure how that worked out, but I hope you enjoyed it, nonetheless. I hope to get more done tonight, so stay tuned, and as always, please review! -SWS _


	5. Of Detectives and Holidays

_A/N: This prompt is interesting, so I hope y'all enjoy it! This chapter is dedicated to my beautiful girlfriend, Emily, because I love her and I felt like it. Enjoy! -SWS  
><em>

_Day: December 5th_

_From: __**Wordwielder**_

_Prompt: Watson forces Holmes to come along on his and Mrs. Hudson's annual tradition of picking out a Christmas tree_

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><p>It was a couple of weeks before that holiday that - much like every other one - is always so dreadfully romanticized. Christmas. It was much more infernally difficult when my flatmate Watson seemed so eager to get into the festive spirit. He bustled about upstairs and down, helping Mrs. Hudson hang all sorts of ludicrous decorations. Wreaths and garlands and bows were hung and draped on almost every available surface - the doors, the walls, the staircase - and it was only through my own firm disapproval that Watson had settled for only a simple pine wreath with a red bow on the door of my bedchamber.<p>

I was pouring over a sheaf of paper with some of my own barely legible scribbles on it, making an attempt to puzzle out what I should get Watson and Mrs. Hudson for Christmas, as I had been previously told that not buying anyone gifts in spite of my negative attitude towards the holiday would be impolite, when Watson walked into the sitting room, a bounce in his step and jauntily whistling _God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen. _I groaned and shifted the papers on my desk to obscure the page from view, as I was sure that Watson in all of his mischievous holiday spirit would not hesitate to take a look at it if allowed a moment alone in the room.

"Holmes, Mrs. Hudson and I were about to go pick out a Christmas tree, just as we do every year, and we would be _delighted _if you would join us."

I turned around in my chair. "Watson, _no._"

Watson sighed exasperatedly. "_Yes, _Holmes. Your mood has done nothing but worsen over the past two weeks and you have not had any cases, nor have I seen you leave the flat for any reason. A spot of fresh air would do wonders for your mood, and as your doctor, old fellow, surely you take more stock in my advice than you would others."

"A spot of fresh air? In London? Absolutely preposterous, Watson! I'd be far better off staying in here. Where do you propose to acquire a Christmas tree in the middle of the city, anyway?"

"We go to a farm, Holmes. A little farm in Willesden just northwest of the city. Do come."

After a moment when I hadn't moved from my seat, Watson sighed and left, descending the stairs. I heaved a sigh of relief and moved to retrieve my gift list, thinking that he had given up and was leaving, but not a moment later he was back, and tossed my coat, gloves, and cane from the hall into my lap wordlessly.

Grumbling slightly under my breath about how unsuitable I found the weather and how needless my presence was, I got up begrudgingly and donned my coat and gloves, taking my cane and following Watson down the stairs where we met Mrs. Hudson in the hall.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I'm so glad you've decided to join us!" Indeed, Mrs. Hudson appeared _quite _glad. Sickeningly so.

As Watson opened the door for us to leave, I huffed in response, watching the warm air from my lungs collide with the frigid front outside and make little clouds in front of my face. I wished bitterly for the holiday season to be over so that I would soon be receiving my usual amount of cases again. The holiday season was so incredibly dull.

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><p><em>AN: I hope you guys enjoyed that! Stay tuned for more! Please review! -SWS_


	6. The Irregular's New Shoes

_A/N: This one just seemed cute from the start. I hope I did well with it. Enjoy! -SWS_

_Day: December 6th_

_From: __**cjnwriter**_

_Prompt: New shoes for the Irregulars_

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><p>As a Christmas present for the Baker Street Irregulars - the Unofficial Baker Street Force, as Holmes called them, and Those Urchins, as Mrs. Hudson called them - Holmes, Mrs. Hudson and I had decided to all chip in to buy new shoes for the boys. Those that they had were old and sizes too small, splitting at the seams to comply with the lads' feet as they grew and worn in the soles from miles and miles of combined walking.<p>

We had called them all the Baker Street to receive their gifts, on the condition that Mrs. Hudson should first tidy them all up before allowing them on the carpets. As they were each fitted with their new and sturdy footwear, they appeared quite gleeful and wasted no time in wiggling their feet around inside them, jumping up and down, and racing each other up and down the stairs.

"Now if you boys get those muddy right away you be sure to wipe them off!" called Mrs. Hudson sternly as the boys ran out the door and into the streets after shouting their thanks for the presents. But as she turned around to close the door, the smile on her face portrayed affection for the young lads who had been of considerable help to Holmes on more than one occasion.

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><p><em>AN: That one was short, and I myself am not impressed with the quality of it, but it was a chapter, nonetheless, and I do love the Irregulars. Stay tuned for more to come! -SWS  
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